


Lost Love

by FanficsbyVe



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficsbyVe/pseuds/FanficsbyVe
Summary: In her final moments, Shira looks back on a life and love lost. One-shot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I can't be the only one who got some Les Yay vibes from Shira towards Filianore. Besides, I wanted to write some more gay couples in the Soulsborne series. Also, the artbook shows that Filianore's hair was originally blond, but her constant exposure to the egg turned it black. So I'm going with that.

Even now, Shira remembers the first time she met Filianore. 

She was hand-picked by Gwyn himself to be her knight and handmaiden for the young Princess, barely on the cusp of womanhood. A great honor, one that many maidens would have killed for. After all, bastard child or no, Filianore was still a princess and to serve the royal family was a position of privilege even among the Gods and their descendants. 

She remembers first looking upon that beautiful face, framed with silver-gold hair and the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. Even at that moment, it stirred more in her than just an appreciation for her beauty, but she was wise enough not to show it. Instead, she had simply bowed before her and told her what a great joy it would be to serve her. 

It had not been a lie. Her new mistress was easily one of the sweetest, kindest and most intelligent people she had ever met. Despite being young and inexperienced, she was also quick to learn from the world around her. She could be charming and witty at the same time, hiding bawdy and dark jokes behind a dazzling smile. She was quick to stand up against injustice, her position as a bastard child making her empathic to the plights of others. And while she couldn’t yet go to Gwyn’s court as she desperately desired, she knew how to handle herself as if already in it.

Even now, she cannot forget the little things. Like the time she and her mistress strolled across the markets in the rich districts of Anor Londo. An up-jumped son of the deity Zinder harassed them in the streets, offering marriage or even just a few nights in exchange for him taking her to court. Realizing Filianore wanted nothing to do with him, Shira had forced him back, causing him to insult her as Gwyn’s bastard and disparaging her as a “skirted knight”, who should feel honored to have his attention. She had expected her charge to move on quickly, to cry, but she did the exact opposite.

Her mistress had then smiled at him, fluttering her eyelashes as she sweet told him that she was indeed a bastard and her knight skirted and that if he planned to insult them, he was awfully trite. Either way, she pitied the woman he would marry if she were to put up with such lackluster wit. The man had spluttered and turned red and she had politely wished him a good day before continuing, with Shira laughing all the way, deciding she could not have wished for a better Princess to serve.

It seemed that feeling was mutual. From day one, Filianore cherished her company. They were together each and every day, sharing their joys and their woes. It was she who taught the young princess to fence, mathematics and battle strategies and introduced her to the principles of courtly intrigue. They became inseparable, in daily life, travel, whatever balls and feasts she was allowed to go to and eventually, in table and bed.

Shira was aware she was not like other girls from an early age. When her sisters and cousins reached the earliest stages of womanhood and fawned over eligible young men, she had felt nothing. Her father, the Duke, had attributed to her either being a late-bloomer or remarkably wise for her age, but it wasn’t long before she realized that the same way her relatives looked at boys, she looked at other women. 

Somehow, she had known that was something she couldn’t share with anyone. After all, all everyone talked about were men and women. No one even remotely raised the possibility of any other option and the mocking tones in which rumors about war god Faraam’s love life were conveyed told her enough. Her deviant passions would never be accepted and if she were to voice them or act on them, she would surely bring disgrace to her family.

Thus, in a way, her life as Filianore’s handmaiden suited her. As Gwyn refused to let any men near his chaste young daughter, her life was pleasantly free of potential marriage candidates. Instead, she could devote all the time in the world serving and being close to one of the most wonderful, singular women she had ever met. Little had she expected, however, that it would not remained an unrequired love. 

Initially, she didn’t think much of her mistress’s complaints about men. After all, men and women complained about each other all the time. Still, she started to notice a pattern when she barely seemed interested in any of the handsome young men Gwyn brought along under his supervision, limiting herself to mere politeness. It was not too long after that the Goddess actually asked her about being attracted to women and all doubts disappeared.

Shira had done her best to explain it the best she could, both society’s take on it and her own sentiments on the matter. She had planned to end it with that, but perhaps it was a sudden bout of foolishness that had her confess her own feelings as well. Before she could even stop herself, she had told Filianore everything and admitted with a great deal of embarrassment that she was indeed romantically attracted to her.

As she spoke the words, she could practically see her entire world shatter before her. After all, had she been a man she would not have made a proper match for the Goddess and she couldn’t even hope to be so as a woman. In fact, she was certain Filianore would simply send her away, albeit with kind words, and she would never see her again, right up to the moment when she felt the Princess’s lips pressed against hers. 

The kiss was the sweetest thing she had ever felt. Without thinking, she started to answer it. Her mistress was not shy about it at all and it was then and there that Shira knew things would never be the same.

Even now, Shira clings to those wonderful nights they spent together. It was easy enough to share a bed without raising suspicion, as it was not uncommon for highborn women to share a bed with their handmaidens. As such, no one suspected a thing when they would retire together each night nor even remotely comprehended what went on behind closed doors. 

She will never forget it what it was like to taste her mistress. To feel her skin against hers. To run her tongue over her breasts. To feel her fingers against her womanhood. The way making love felt so easy with her and the way they would tell each other how much they loved one another afterwards.

Those years in Anor Londo were the most beautiful of her life. In that secluded villa, away from the machinations of Gods and Men, she lived with her beloved in a state of bliss. A marriage of sorts, the kind of relationship they could never have in the outside world.

Especially that last notion was something the knightess was sometimes painfully aware of. The life they had now would not last forever. Eventually, Gwyn would want to take his daughter to court. He would no doubt make her a prestigious match to another God or their sons and perhaps even relief her of her duty as she was taken into another household. She herself would likely face a marriage of her own once that happen and the thought alone made her nauseous.

She was a strong woman, one who had coped with hardships, but she didn’t know if she could bear that. To watch her beloved Filianore from afar, unhappily on another man’s arm. To have to feign affection to a husband of her own, even if he was a good man, knowing she could never love him even if he was good and kind and gentle. She feared that future, for herself and her lover and every day, she prayed that their life in that villa would last a little longer.

Until that day.

Gwyn eventually came back, just as she feared, but it was not to take his daughter to court. Instead, it was to take her to the kingdom of the pygmies. She was to be part of a ward that would contain the Darkness he feared so much, to forever seal that which the Gods feared. She would have to remain there for a while, asleep, and in the meantime, Shira would watch over her. 

The knightess had not shown it, but she had quietly rejoiced when they were sent to the to the Ringed City. She had felt a deep sense of happiness. After all, even if she could not touch Filianore or talk to her for that time, she was not lost to her. As much of a sacrifice as it was, even if her beloved had to sleep for an eternity, at least they would not be separated. Filianore would be there and she would guard her as she always did. 

Besides, she figured, this new arrangement would give her time. Time to make a plan, an idea for what to do when their duty here was done. A way to keep Filianore and to ensure they would never have to be apart. 

Yet now, Filianore is gone and so is she. As she lies bleeding at the feet of this Ashen One, this foul Unkindled, she knows she has failed to avenge her love. She is dying, swiftly, and with it, the last remaining citizen of the Ringed City will be gone. This is the end for her, for the city she vowed to protect and for a love that endured for endless years.

Feeling hatred pulse through her veins as her heart stops beating, she looks up at the man who has slain her. It’s with a small matter or surprise that she notices he doesn’t seem to delight in her demise. Instead he looks shocked, confused, sad, remorseful… Almost as if he didn’t know what would occur if he would wake Filianore and never expected, or meant, for any of this to happen…

For some reason, that only makes her angrier. Her entire life, damned by one unwitting fool. A failed Lord of Cinder who doesn’t even understand that he took away her honor, dignity and the love of her life. She spits at him, coughing up blood, her lips forming her last, bitter words.

“Never would I ever…forgive thy lowly kind…”

It is with those words that her world finally turns black. She accepts her death with deep resentment, before turning her last thought to something less wretched to make it more bearable. To the woman she loved, to whom she couldn’t even say goodbye. 

All she can hope is that there’s something. Something beyond this wretched pile of Ash, where civilization built with fire have long perished. Something beyond this miserable cycle that Gwyn called into being. A life beyond this one, beyond death, where perhaps she can see her beloved Filianore again.


End file.
